


Safe in the Eye of the Hurricane

by Olor_et_Luna



Series: Stormfronts [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Olor_et_Luna/pseuds/Olor_et_Luna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Master Clint and Princess and just...look, it's hard to explain, there are relationships, some of them are D/s some are not, there is sassiness and snark and smut and important things happen in kitchens, for some reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe in the Eye of the Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> This HulkEye piece came about because of girl0nfire and I being, well....us. She is the best beta for me in this universe. All mistakes are mine, not hers.  
> This has mature content. There will be more to come, and the content will get more explicit, fyi.  
> This is my first story in this fandom at all.  
> hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Oh, also, I don't own any of these characters- Marvel does, Stan Lee is The Man, Joss Whedon is the Man In Waiting, and everyone else involved is filling in the ranks, I am just playing with them.

Bruce loved these lazy Sunday mornings: mornings where no one needed saving, where no one needed to be a super hero, mornings where they could just…be. Rolling over, he flung out his arm.  The coolness of the bed next to him made him realize that his love must be up already.  Bruce heard a shuffling in the corner of the room, by the kitchenette, and it dawned on him that it was a teakettle whistling and the scent of coffee that had woken him up.

“Morning, babe.” Clint stood, bleary eyed, jeans hanging haphazardly off his hips and only partially fastened. He extended a mug toward Bruce.

”This one’s yours.”

Bruce wasn’t sure full sentences were an option just yet. “Hrmph…branklet….nest…..not here. Leave a message.”

“What the fuck did you just say?” Clint withdrew the mug a bit.

“You weren’t here when I woke up, get back in bed, with the blankets, it’s warm…that better be tea in my mug.” Bruce reached for the mug Clint was holding out to him.

“Honestly Bruce, you and I both know you _can_ drink coffee, you just prefer tea.” Clint rolled his eyes at Bruce, who hid a smile. “Have I _ever_ given you something you didn’t need?” Clint stared at Bruce, waiting for a reply.

Bruce shivered, tried to hold the eye contact with the man who was his teammate, lover, husband. His _Master_.

“No, Sir. You have never given me something that I didn’t need.”

                                                                                &^&

Looking back, Bruce used to think that this _thing_ that they had going had maybe started on accident.

But if he was being honest with himself, he always knew that Clint was just waiting for an opening.

                                                                                &^&

It had started with Bruce having an epically bad day. Nothing was working out right in the lab, and Steve kept coming in and distracting Tony. Bruce decided that some tea would go a long way toward helping. But, as he entered the common kitchen, he was greeted with an eyeful of Natasha wrapped around Coulson.

“Agent Coulson, Ms. Romanov, I’m sorry, please excuse me.  I just wanted some tea and a place to relax.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, the kitchen was miraculously empty. Bruce realized a long time ago that whenever he said he needed to relax, everyone assumed he was close to letting the ‘Other Guy’ out.  Yes, he thought, a little bitterly, he housed… _him_ , but he was still _Bruce_ goddamnit!

He was still someone who needed to unwind sometimes, just like ANYBODY else.

He could feel his breathing pick up, his heart rate speeding to meet it, and he knew he needed to calm down.  He methodically made his tea, hoping to calm himself. He knew better than anyone that letting his ever-present anger take control was not the answer.

“Bruce, sit down.”

He looked over his shoulder to verify that he was just told to _sit_ by Clint.

“Banner, sit down. Now. That wasn’t a request.”

Without pause for thought, Bruce took a seat at the kitchen table. Clint circled, running a finger along the smooth wooden surface, but keeping his eyes on Bruce.

“I don’t know what has your panties in such a twist, Princess, but I am _certain_ that it doesn’t merit destroying this kitchen, or the trust that the team has placed in you.”

“Clint, I _really_ hate that expression, and don’t call me Princess.” Bruce takes a deep breath before adding, somewhat petulantly, “I _wasn’t_ destroying the kitchen.”

Clint raised an eyebrow before moving his circuit closer to the other man. “Are you challenging me on this? I know you. I watch you. You’re right, you _are_ always angry. You are _always_ in control, but I know that you crave being able to give that up.”

Bruce knew the other man was right, but opened his mouth to argue anyways.

Clint cut across him.  “No, don’t say a word.  Just sit there, drink your tea, and listen. I am offering to take the control from you. All you have to do is listen to what I say, and follow the rules.  It doesn’t have to be any more than that.” Clint finally stopped behind Bruce, setting  a calloused palm on his shoulder. Bruce relaxed into the warm weight of it; Clint’s hand on his shoulder was sure and strong. Suddenly, Bruce became painfully aware of how long it had been since he’d enjoyed another person’s touch. And from what he could tell, Clint never hesitated to touch him; something Bruce hadn’t experienced much since the accident.

Clint leaned in to whisper in Bruce’s ear. “But it _can_. Think about it, Princess, and let me know.”

Bruce felt Clint shift; a soft brush of lips against his hair, and then the other man was gone.

                                                                                                &^&

They’ve been together for two years, married for a little over three months.  As a wedding gift, Tony had given them their own floor in the tower, which was really for the best. Things still had a tendency to get awkward in the common areas, not as much as in the early days, when Bruce was still feeling out his boundaries with Clint, but enough.

                                                                                                &^&      




“Bruce, you need to eat more protein at breakfast.” Clint didn’t wait for an answer; he just swapped out Bruce’s bowl of fruit with a large plate of eggs and bacon.

“Remember, it isn’t your job to make sure anyone else is fed, you don’t have to go without. You only need to take care of yourself.”  Clint popped a berry into his mouth and went back to his coffee, not-so-subtly peeking over the top of the news every so often to make sure Bruce was eating.

Of course, Bruce noticed every time Clint’s eyes appeared above his paper. This was about more than just breakfast; this was about being good and doing what he was told without question. Clint had told him to do something for the betterment of himself, and he was to comply. No questions, no arguments, just obedience.

This was the first rule.

So, Bruce ate the entire breakfast, even though it seemed unnecessarily large to him. When he was done, he looked up to see a small smile on Clint’s face.

Bruce couldn’t recall a time since the accident that he felt more at peace.

Tony leaned against the counter with his own coffee, and smirked at the exchange.

                                                                                                &^&

Bruce took a deep, shuddering breath. Clint had spent the last five minutes pressed against him in the hallway leading to their bedroom, alternating between sucking on his tongue in the most delightfully obscene way, and catching Bruce’s lower lip between his teeth.

Clint knew that the deep breath was a signal that Bruce felt it was too much, too close to the mental edge, so with a peck to Bruce’s now bruised lip, he walked away.

                                                                                                &^&

Clint stood over a kneeling Bruce. He was holding a key in one hand, tapping it against his thigh while he spoke.

“You need to trust that I know your limits- you _must_ trust me completely. You must trust me not just with your life, but with the lives of everyone in this tower. Do you?”

Did he trust Clint to do what was best? _Yes_.

 Did he trust him to make the rules for how Bruce lived his life? _Of course_.

Did he trust him enough to sleep, actually sleep, with the other man? _Without question_.

Bruce breathed deeply, turned Clint’s question over in his mind.  Could he trust him with the boundaries of the Other Guy?

Raising his eyes to Clint’s, Bruce swallowed once before hoarsely whispering, “Yes…yes, I trust you, Sir.

                                                                                                &^&

Agent Coulson sat at the kitchen table, eating his lunch and texting Natasha, who was in the next room.

_To Red: Bruce doesn’t look like he’s slept in a week_

_To Red: Barton is going to flip his shit_

_To Red: NAT GET HERE NOW YOU NEED TO SEE THIS_

Natasha tried, and failed, to look subtle as she skidded into the kitchen. Dropping a quick kiss on Phil’s cheek, she grabbed his coffee and sat down in the chair next to him.

Clint was leaning against the counter, eyeing Bruce. Bruce was propped against the fridge, disheveled, his shirt wasn’t buttoned right, his glasses were askew, and he looked like he would fall over any moment.

“How many hours did you sleep last night Bruce?” Clint asked, casually.

“Three…”

“I’m sorry, was that you saying ‘I got at least six hours of sleep, if not more, Clint’ I couldn’t tell.”

“Three, alright Barton? I got _three_ hours!” Bruce…well, Bruce didn’t snap, but he was much shorter than he would have usually been. Truth was, his room seemed so cold, so _empty_ when he was alone, he just _couldn’t_ sleep.

Clint looked wordlessly at Bruce, studying him. Coulson reached for his coffee, forgetting that Natasha had it, and Natasha just grinned into the mug. Neither of the spies could tear their eyes away from the exchange unfolding in front of them.

It took two minutes of Clint staring before Bruce broke. “Sorry, Clint. I’ll just go have a nap now, yeah?”

“You do that. I’ll let Tony know you won’t be working in the lab today.”

Bruce slumped out quietly. Still at the table, Natasha silently held out her hand as Coulson placed a five dollar bill in it.

                                                                                &^&

Clint had Bruce against the door to Clint’s bedroom, Bruce’s arms stretched over his head, both of his wrists in one hand.  Clint had spent the better part of half an hour licking and sucking on the bit of flesh right behind Bruce’s left ear.

“Six hours at a _minimum_ , Princess, or you don’t have the focus needed for when I get you alone.” Backing away, he gestured to futon mattress and the pile of blankets on his floor. Everyone called it his nest, whatever, it was comfortable and warm.

“I’ll look into getting an actual bed, something big, sturdy, that will handle both of us, but for now, this is what I have so this is what you get. Go on, lay yourself down and sleep now, I’ll be in and out to check on you.”

Clint gave Bruce one quick kiss on the lips before heading out to talk to Tony about interior design. He was _never_ going to hear the end of this.

                                                                                                &^&

Steve walked into the lab, sneaking behind Tony and pinching him on the ass before wrapping his arms around the smaller man.  “How much longer are you going to be in here, Babe? You and Doctor Banner have been working for more than 24 hours, and you _know_ I can’t sleep well without you.”

Tony turned to Steve, returning the embrace. “Just wait for it,” he murmured into Steve’s shirt.

“Wait for what?”

Not a minute later, Clint came storming into the lab without warning, jamming his fingers into the keypad by the door and swinging it open violently.  Steve opened his mouth to comment, but Tony placed a finger to his lips.

“ _Doctor Banner_ , It has come to my attention that you have been down here for going on thirty hours now. Have you eaten, have you slept? _Jesus_ , when did you last shower?”

Steve cleared his throat.

“Clint, I brought some sandwiches down myself a few hours ago. It probably wasn’t the healthiest, but if I am going to keep Tony fed, I can make sure Doctor Banner eats, too.” Steve looked a bit confused as he eyed Clint over the top of Tony’s head.

Ignoring them both, Clint continued, “Bruce, are you paying attention to me at all? You need to eat. You need to rest. You need to get out of those filthy clothes and shower. What have you two even been _doing_?” Clint’s voice got lower and cooler with each word he spoke. Bruce kept working on whatever had his attention, back turned.

Again, Steve went to say something, but Tony silenced him.

“All right then, Princess. If that’s how you want to play this, you have _two_ minutes to get in the shower, _fifteen_ minutes to get in the kitchen for some real food-no offense Cap- and _thirty_ minutes to be in bed, naked, under the covers, and lights out. If you are not moving soon you aren’t going to make it, and then I deal with it here. Are we clear?” Bruce finally turned and looked at Clint, then at Tony and Steve, apprehension in his eyes.

As if reading Bruce’s mind, Clint spat out, “No, Bruce, _they_ don’t matter.  I’ll handle it in front of them if I have to.”

Clint looked at his watch then looked at Bruce, who had gotten up and was _running_ out of the lab.

“Oh. OH! _Oh_.” Steve exclaimed, comprehension dawning slowly on his features. Tony stayed wrapped around him, laughing silently into his t-shirt.

“Sorry I had to do that here, Stark. Bruce can’t come out and play for at least a week. If SHIELD needs him to work on something, that’s fine, its work, but none of this ‘Science Bros’ bullshit. I know you understand his rules.” 

With that, Clint sauntered out of the lab, slamming the door behind him.

Steve whistled lowly. “Wow.”

                                                                                &^&

Bruce was on his knees in the shower, breathing deeply through his nose. Clint had one hand wrapped in Bruce’s hair, the other braced behind him on the slippery tiles of the shower wall.

“That’s it, Princess, you’re doing _so_ well. That’s a good boy.”

The only warning Bruce had was Clint’s fingers tightening in his hair, and he hummed low in the back of his throat while he swallowed. Clint released him, reached out and running the pad of his thumb across Bruce’s lower lip.

“That was lovely; don’t think it gets you out of eating, though.”

                                                                                &^&

Tony leaned against the counter by the fridge.

“I think we need another shawarma night soon. It was fun last time!” Tony said to break the silence.

Three sets of eyes turned towards him, after a moment of awkward silence, Steve cleared his throat.

“So, this is more than just a power play thing, right? I don’t think any of us want to deal with a hurt and broken Bruce.”  Steve _hated_ feeling like he was gossiping, but he needed to know that his friends were going to be okay.

“Steve, I think Natasha would have told us if this was something to be concerned with.” Tony grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and wondered why all important conversations seemed to happen in kitchens. He leaned over the back of Steve’s chair to hand him the water.

“Tony’s right. I would have spoken to Clint if I thought someone could be hurt, but Clint knows what he is doing. And Bruce seems to be thriving” Natasha was perched at the table, drinking Phil’s coffee while he perused the paper.

“Shawarma night again, I’m all for it.” A voice boomed from the doorway, “Now, what’s everyone talking about?”

“Shhhhh…dammit Thor, we’re trying to get Steve to not worry about what’s going on, or not, between Bruce and Clint…Where did you come from?” Natasha asked, annoyed.

“Ah, well, it’s obvious. Clint is in control and Bruce likes it. Also, I was on the balcony.”

“Well, that was blunt.” Steve said.

“Cap, his nephew is a horse. He’s more understanding of these things than you.”

 

 


End file.
